Implying Something More
by Mimiv
Summary: - collection of short drabbles K to T - Everything they'd ever said to each other implied there was something more – something beyond the simple "contractual relationship" – to the outsider, that is... but to them... - Lelouch x C.C -
1. notice

**Implying Something More**

_Will be updated sporadically according to author's whim_

* * *

Everything they'd ever said to each other implied there was something more – something beyond the simple "contractual relationship" – to the outsider, that is…but to them…


	2. you found me

"_I've found you. My…"_

* * *

C.C. should have smiled. Didn't the princess smile when her prince came to save her? Didn't she smile when he rode through the thorns and slayed the fire-breathing dragon? Or when he bent down on one knee – like when proposing – and leaned forward to plant a chaste kiss on her lips? Of course she did.

Then again, C.C. wasn't a princess, was she? No, she was the wicked witch that melted away. She was the one who bled green blood and shed black tears. The one whose look would turn any prince to stone. And so, this prince, this black-haired prince, would inevitably turn to stone because that was the natural way of the world. Princesses live in towers and wait for knights in shining armor. And witches? Witches separate lovers, and for their terrible sins, burn in hell. Of course that's the way the world works. Of course…

So, if a princess would smile, what would a witch do?

Smirk.

C.C. smirked. In the end, the Black Prince would turn to stone just like the rest of them did. Because she willed it. Because she was, after all, C.C., and no one who went by a name like C.C. could have a heart.


	3. it's red

"_Don't kill him!" _

* * *

Don't kill him. It's a phase often uttered by damsels in distress as they watch their lovers try to defend their honor. Don't kill him, they'll shout, because…because of love! Love, the thing that can never be broken.

But, truthfully, C.C. didn't love Lelouch any more than she did the officer about to shoot him. Nevertheless, she would protect him. Death didn't matter because it could never claim her. She would never belong to Death, so what harm was there in humoring him for a little while? Dying means nothing to the immortal soul.

And so the witch protected the Black Prince. For her own selfish purposes undoubtedly.

She broke past the guns that kept him from her, and perhaps later, he would regret that she did. But for now…

The sound of the bullet burrowing into her flesh and skull seemed to surprise and dismay him.

But do you know what the real surprise is? The color of the blood.

It's red.


	4. knightmares

"_He made a promise about our future together, right?" _

* * *

C.C. said it stoically. A long time ago, C.C. used to dream. Actually, they were never really dreams, but nightmares, and she used to have the same reoccurring nightmare. Then, one night, it changed.

---

Chains shackled her feet to the ground, similar ones her hands to the blood-splattered wall. The blood always turned out to be hers. Sometimes, she knew that at the beginning, and sometimes, she would realize it halfway through and become completely horrified. She was naked, usually, with long, fresh scars running up and down her stomach and legs. It hurt, too; the pain racked her body with silent, ravaging screams until they peaked, and she opened her mouth to release their pent up anger and sorrow.

So many people walked by as she screamed. Faceless souls that moaned and dragged on with hopeless tread. She never saw their eyes, and once in a while, one of them would approach her.

How she feared their approach. She watched their movement, completely terrified of any shift in their gait. She prayed with eyes shut tightly against the unearthly sight, but it never helped. Eventually, each one would go up to her and, raising a long, grey claw from a stump of a hand, rake it across her hot flesh.

The same dream day in and day out. For a time, C.C. refused to sleep, but after the first few days, she dozed off whilst scrubbing the chapel's stone floors – a punishment for her recklessly using Geass again.

It was the same place, the same haggard ghouls, the same pain that never dulled despite the frequency of the dream. This time, however…

The first person that came up, reaching his arm out as though to embrace her though C.C. knew better, suddenly stopped. C.C. slowly raised her head, closing her dry mouth against the screams that fought to be released. She started.

Violet eyes.

Sad.

Simultaneously, C.C. felt tears stream down her cheeks.

When she woke, C.C. found herself in a cold sweat with suspicious, clear stains stretching from the corner of her eyes.

Little did she know that in a few hours, blood would spill across the floor she had so meticulously finished cleaning.

C.C. never dreamed again.

---

She shifted in her seat and watched as Lelouch threw the teacup aside. It shattered.  
Strangely, his violet eyes seemed vaguely familiar.


	5. words

"_I was dead until the moment I met you. I was a powerless corpse pretending to be alive."_

* * *

C.C.'s grip on the gun loosened. He was bluffing, had to be. Even so, a cold fear came creeping through her limbs like a silent plague, taking over and engulfing until there was nothing left but itself. It was a strange sensation, one that she hadn't felt for centuries, and to think that it was this boy who made her feel it! This pitiful, weak boy who, when they first met, couldn't even defend his friend much less himself. It almost awed her how she could be so easily beaten.

Yet, at the same time, his words rang through her head as though her mind were empty and hollow. It bounced from one side to the other until she grew agitated by her fascination with plain words, which she had, she reminded herself, heard many times prior.

The firearm lightly touched her side as she mutely accepted defeat. In a sense, he was right, and she said so. Stepping aside, C.C. leaned indifferently against the bed and stared stanchly at the ground whilst he brushed past her and left. When she was alone, she continued to play his words in her head. _...dead until…you…_


	6. welcome home

"_Welcome home, Lelouch."_

* * *

She said it airily, but in the depths of her feelings which had lain dormant for so long, she truly meant it. After all, everybody needs a home, don't they? And he, this abandoned Prince who has had no home for so long, deserves one more that anyone else, doesn't he?

And so, for that simple reason, whenever she heard the smooth grating of metal against metal and the quiet _whoosh_ that accompanied her contractor's entrance, she always turned her head about and said, "Welcome home, Lelouch."

Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe he would never consider that little room which he shared with a green-haired, pizza-eating witch home, and she was quite sure he didn't. Maybe, and even so, she liked to pretend he did, and sometimes, she thought he did too.

(And she always said his name in accompaniment just because she liked how it rolled off her tongue.)


End file.
